


Desire Backwards

by OfAlienDescent



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gryffindor, Halloween, Hogwarts, Mirror of Erised, Room of Requirement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27037243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfAlienDescent/pseuds/OfAlienDescent
Summary: When Harry shares his new discovery in the Room of Requirement with Hermione, he expects her to berate him, not join him in destroying it forever.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 9
Kudos: 105





	1. When Forgotten is Found

Harry watched as Ron stuffed the last dumpling in his mouth and chomped down with a revolting squish sound. An hour before, they had visited the kitchens and made it back just before fifth-year curfew, and Dobby made sure they left with full pockets—though Harry just gave away the candies he didn’t feel like eating to the rest of the students in the common room. Hermione, however, didn’t go with them. She had been laying on the floor by the fireplace since before they even left, taking notes from her transfiguration textbook.

Ron placed the empty dish on the table and stood up. He made a show of huffing at his fullness, gripping his stomach, then said, “I’m off. See you two in the morning.”

They bid him farewell and he disappeared up the stairs to the boy’s dorm. The very second the door closed, Hermione launched up to her feet and sat down on the coffee table across from Harry with her nostrils flared.

“So?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Er—What?” Harry said, genuinely bewildered. The way Hermione spoke made it seem like they’d planned on discussing something when Ron left, but he had no memory of doing so. “What are you... What?”

She scooted so close to him that Harry felt his knee brush against hers, and she leaned in seriously. “Are you going to tell me where you’ve been sneaking off to for the last two nights?”

 _So, she did see me,_ Harry thought. For the last two nights, Harry had waited until the dead of night, when the only conscious person in Gryffindor tower was Hermione, who studied quietly on the couch by the fire, then snuck out of the common room under the security of his invisibility cloak. The first night he made it halfway out of the portrait hole before it creaked loudly, causing the studious girl to let out a startled yelp. Harry pulled his leg over as quickly as he could while still keeping it concealed under the cloak and just managed to shut the portrait when he heard footsteps rush towards him from behind the Fat Lady. The painting shot open once more, revealing the new seventh-floor painting: _Suspicious Hermione_.

The next night, Harry found Hermione lying right in front of the portrait hole. He would have thought her to be guarding it, had she not been copying bits of text from a large tome. She was pushing down quite hard on the paper with her quill and scrunching her face together, so he figured if he was quiet enough, she might not even notice him. He slowly worked his way around her, taking his time with each step so that he walked silently without the floors creaking beneath him. He pushed the portrait open slower than last time, lifted one of his legs over the side, and started to pull the other one up when Hermione’s head spun around to peer at the hole in the wall. At the sight of Hermione’s laser-trained eyes, Harry forgot that he was hidden under his father’s cloak and fell backwards onto the corridor floor. He worked his way back onto his feet and under the cloak to see Hermione climbing out.

Harry stood in silence a few feet away from her—his best friend. He wondered for a moment if he should just rip off the cloak and tell her what he was up to, but he knew that she wouldn’t approve—and, because she’s Hermione, put an end to it. He couldn’t take that chance. After a moment of suspiciously glaring down the seemingly empty corridor, Hermione sighed, straightened her skirt, and climbed back through the portrait hole.

“I saw your shoe when you fell, Harry,” Hermione said in a hissing whisper, bringing Harry back to the present. He could tell she was more concerned than angry with him, which made him even more guilty about not just telling her what he was up to in the first place. “Don’t try to deny it, I know your shoes—you only have a few pairs. So, what have you been up to?”

Harry gazed around the common room for a moment in case anyone was close enough to hear. It was past ten, so there were plenty of people still awake and chatting or doing homework, and Harry wasn’t sure whether or not it was safe to speak in front of the other Gryffindors about the D.A. Any one of them could tell Umbridge and get them all in serious trouble—including the ones that were already in the club. Harry was content to see that the only people in listening range, were focusing hard on their schoolwork by the window.

Harry sighed and quietly said, “The room where we met for the D.A. meeting. I’ve been, well, testing it.”

“Testing it,” said Hermione. “What do you mean?”

Harry bit his cheek. She was clearly going to find out whether he told her or not. He leaned in even closer and whispered. “There’s this room... It shows up if you think about hiding. It’s huge—giant even. It’s filled with loads of things. Things people have... thrown away or hid, I guess.”

“So,” said Hermione curiously. “You’ve been filtering through trash instead of sleeping.”

Harry laughed to himself for a moment. He didn’t realize how hard it was going to be to tell her. He didn’t understand; it was always easy to talk to Hermione—he told her everything. Was this _really_ that different? After a moment of looking at each other in silence, Hermione reached down and took hold of Harry’s hand in between both of hers.

“Harry?” she said. “What is it?”

“Maybe...” Harry muttered. “Maybe you should just see it for yourself.”

Hermione squeezed his hand, and he returned the pressure gratefully. “Okay,” she said simply.

Harry sat by Hermione for the next few hours on the couch in front of the fire while she continued her excessive note-taking. When everyone had gone to bed, and the nighttime October wind could be heard whirring on the windowsill, Harry said that he’d be right back to retrieve the cloak. As he stood, Hermione held him by the wrist. The concerned look made its way back onto her face as she gazed into his eyes, and he didn’t have to ask what she was trying to say.

“I won’t sneak past you,” he whispered. She smiled and let him go.

Harry emerged from the boy’s dormitory door moments later with the cloak stuffed underneath his sweater “Got it,” Harry said, pulling the cloak out.

In the corridor, Hermione joined him beneath the fabric and even though she was shorter than him, it was a struggle to keep them both concealed at the same time. After only a few steps of crouching and desperately pulling the fabric so that it covered their feet, they decided to just move as close as possible and keep their knees bent. Every time they took a step, their legs scraped against each other uncomfortably.

“A bit annoying, isn’t it?” said Hermione, shifting her body as they walked to the Room of Requirements.

“Could be worse,” said Harry. “At least no one’s pelting us with curses. Try to focus on something else.”

“Like what?”

“Anything. Ask me about something.”

There was silence for a while before Hermione finally said, “Cho Chang.”

“What?”

“I saw the way she way she was looking at you during the D.A. meeting.”

“Is... that a question?”

“I mean, do you still like her? Do you think it’ll affect your teaching?”

“ _Teaching_?” Harry snorted. “Well, probably not. We don’t really talk that much.”

“Yeah... But you do like her?”

“Maybe. I’m not really sure, Hermione. Honestly.”

“Hmm,” said Hermione. Harry couldn’t help but notice that her walking pace quickened ever so slightly. “Your turn.”

“Were taking turns?” asked Harry.

“You don’t have _anything_ you’d like to ask me? Nothing at all?”

“Well, when you put it like that... There has been something I’ve been meaning to ask you since we’re talking about this sort of thing already.” Harry’s heart rate quickened, and he worried she might be able to hear it since they were so close.

“Go on,” Hermione said. Harry could tell by the sound of the voice that she was grinning.

“Last year—after the ball—you said something,” said Harry. “You were arguing with Ron about, well I’m not sure what you were arguing about, really. But you told him that next time he wanted to go with you, he should just ask you sooner.” Harry hoped he had said enough to elicit a response from her, but he was met with a jarring silence. “So, I was just wondering. I was just curious if you... Do you like _him_?”

“Of course, I like him,” said Hermione, as they arrived at the corridor that the Room of Requirement was on. “He’s our friend. Though he does bug me sometimes.”

Harry struggled to dispel the smile that began to grow on his face.

The pair stopped in front of the wall that they knew that the Room of Requirement would appear, and Harry reminded Hermione to wish for a place to hide before they both bowed their heads in silence. He worked his brain to its limits trying to focus on hiding after what he’d just heard Hermione say, but his thoughts betrayed him. Little memories of her and Ron arguing that had once made him nervous were vacating their homes and moving to the oceanside towns of his brain, which tingled with delight with every flashing image. He wished that the light-headed feeling could stay forever, but soon, he thought, Hermione would be angry with him.

The sound of grinding stone grew louder and louder as the outline of a sturdy door snaked its way around the spot where dark oak soon displaced the empty space it traced, and two large handles appeared midway up from the ground. Harry reached out from beneath the cloak and pulled. Once they had the door shut behind them, Harry slid the cloak off of them and watched Hermione gaze around the cathedral-sized room for the first time. Old raggedy items stood like towers and hills around them; copied homework, books from the restricted section, chairs with gum on the undersides, and expensive jewelry that seemed to have no business there at all.

Once she’d taken in as much as her senses could manage, her eyes shot to Harry’s. “What is this place,” she asked with a curious smile.

“Like I said,” Harry shrugged. “The Room of Hidden Things. And that includes us, technically.”

Hermione’s face grew serious. She crossed her arms and tilted her head slightly. “Right. Now, what is it you need to show me?”

Harry led Hermione through the paths between the junk piles he had gotten so used to traversing. “Don’t be mad, Hermione,” he said as they arrived in between a busted piano and a bullfrog sculpture made of moldy cheese. A large canvas encased something tall and rectangular. Hermione stood in front of it while Harry walked over to its side and tugged at the canvas, which slid off at the slightest touch and fell faster and faster until it landed with a loud flapping sound. “It’s called the Mirror of Erised.”

He chewed on the inside of his lip as he watched her expression go from mild curiosity to nothing at all. Her eyes had become glued to the mirror and she watched transfixed until a grin appeared on her face and spread from ear to ear. “It isn’t real,” said Harry. “Whatever you’re seeing. This was the mirror from the chamber at the end of first year. The one that I was able to get the stone from.”

“The one that Dumbledore warned you about,” she said, her grin beginning to fail as she watched the surface of the mirror. “I don’t understand. What’s so bad about it?”

“It shows your—er—most inner desire—or something like that, but that’s it. It only shows you what you want to see. People waste away staring at it and forget about their lives, because, when they see what it shows them, they forget that they don’t actually have it.”

Harry noticed that Hermione’s cheeks were starting to grow red as she gazed into the mirror. Suddenly, she shot him a worried look. “You—you can’t see what I’m seeing, can you?” she stuttered.

“Er—no, it’s different for everyone. Why?”

Hermione cleared her throat and straightened her shirt. “I—no reason. What do you see, then?”

Harry raised his eyebrows and joined her in front of the mirror. He wiped a few layers of dust off of the stand and peered into the mirror, steeling himself. Just beyond the glass, a few feet away, he sat at the kitchen table at Grimaud Place. An instantly recognizable pair of green sparkling eyes were set on top of a wide smile in front of him, and next to her, Sirius and his father were laughing about something. Sitting next to Harry, Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, and on his other side, Ron was chatting happily with Cedric Diggory, who was still alive.

Harry took a deep breath. “I used to see my whole family—or I did when I was a first-year—but now I... There are a few less people. My parents are still there, but so is Sirius, you, Ron, and...” Harry shut his eyes and balled his fists. He took a few more breaths before letting his head sag and shakily saying, “And Cedric.”

He felt Hermione place her hand on his back and he pulled his head back up to look at her. Before he could even say a word, she wrapped him into a tight hug—tighter than she had ever hugged him before.

 _Maybe I won’t need to explain_ , Harry hoped, on the verge of tears, as he returned Hermione’s tight embrace. He failed Cedric. If it weren’t for Harry, Amos Diggory would still have his son. Cedric would still be alive. Harry knew that if Hermione were to make him explain himself, he wouldn’t be able to hold it together for another second longer.

“I’m not mad, Harry,” whispered Hermione. And with that, Harry let his face fall into the crook of her warm neck, and he held her even tighter. “I get why you’ve been coming here, now.”

Of course, she wasn’t mad. Of course, she understood. This was _Hermione Granger_. How could he have been so stupid? If anyone were to understand Harry’s chaotic thinking, it was Hermione. Harry let her go and wiped his watering eyes with the palms of his hands, and when he looked back into the mirror, Hermione took hold of his hand and squeezed it.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, returning the pressure.

“Yes?”

“Will you help me destroy it?”


	2. Harry and Cho

Morning light bled through a crack in the curtains and onto Harry’s eyes until it was impossible to stay asleep. He sat up in his four-poster and looked over to see if Ron was awake, but his bed was empty—as well as everyone else’s. When Harry stood and looked through his trunk for his clothes, he heard a painful groan emanating from across the room. Apparently, Harry wasn’t alone because, a moment later, Neville sat up in his bed clutching his side.

“All right, Neville?” said Harry, worried by the sound.

Neville removed himself from the clutches of his covers with another groan and began to change into his clothes, being very careful not to move in the wrong way. “I think so,” he said. “I will be, at least.”

“What happened?”

“You know that stunning charm you started teaching us?” Neville grunted as he pulled his shirt over his head. “I tried to help Luna with it yesterday after classes ended. Turns out it can leave a _nasty_ bruise when not cast properly.”

Harry became immediately aware of a dark brown oval stamped into Neville’s side. “Merlin, Neville... Does it hurt?” said Harry. Neville laughed then gripped his side.

When the two of them finished dressing they decided to head to the Great Hall together, where they figured everyone else must be. On their way down, Harry thought about the night before. He had come so close to his breaking point. Ever since the summer, it seemed like he was on the verge of crying or screaming but knowing that he wouldn’t have to go about it alone anymore somehow already started to make him feel better.

“Maybe,” Harry said to Neville as they approached the Great Hall doors. “There should be a rule against practicing spells you don’t know very well yet _outside_ of the meetings.”

“Probably for the best, Harry. Maybe you could teach a healing charm next class?”

Harry laughed. “I don’t really know any good ones for defensive situations, but I’ll—er—ask Hermione to add it to the curriculum... Speaking of which,” Harry remembered as he entered the hall and saw Hermione sitting across from Ron. “ _Hermione_ probably does know one. You should ask her to help with the bruise.”

“Yeah, maybe I will. See you later, Harry.”

Harry waved Neville goodbye when he took his spot next to Ginny and a few of her friends and began to make his way over to where Hermione and Ron sat. They both wore wide grins and were chatting happily, which sent white noise buzzing softly through the far back of Harry’s mind.

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione said as he sat next to her. “We were just about to bring you up some toast before we have to go to class, what took you so long?”

“Oh, I guess I—er... needed the sleep.” He said, only then realizing how tired he was. He pulled over two slices of toast and ate quickly.

Harry and Ron chatted for a few minutes on what to expect in Potions. Neither had worked very hard on their essay, and Harry was almost certain he had forgotten to write his final paragraph.

“Hey, Harry,” said a dreamy voice from behind him.

“Luna,” Hermione said. “How are you?”

“I’m doing rather poorly, actually,” she said with a voice that contradicted her completely.

“Oh, I’m sorry. What happened?”

“Nothing _too_ horrible. It’s just that after classes yesterday I tried to Stupefy Neville and accidentally catapulted him against the castle wall—he says I’ll get better with practice. But that’s why I came over. Harry, you should do another class tonight. I talked to the other members and they said they would all come.”

“Oh,” Harry started. He looked to Hermione, who nodded back at him with a small smile. “I—er—sure. We can do another meeting tonight.” Harry yawned. “I may just have to take a nap at lunch.”

#

Morning Herbology was Harry’s first trial of the day, although staying awake wasn’t too hard. Being outside in the chilly October weather while you plant pumpkin seeds for an hour and a half for the upcoming feast and dance made it very hard to even remember what sleep was. What made it _easy_ to remember what sleep was, however, was History of Magic after having just worked so hard for so long.

Harry found himself face down in his notes (if you could call his scribbles notes) trying not to fall asleep before Professor Binns even started teaching. The monotone drawl of which he spoke combined with the spine-tingling scratches of Hermione taking thorough notes beside him, sent him into a deeper sleep than he had been in for a while.

He awoke to the feeling of a quill jabbing him in his side. Hermione stuffed it back into her bag beside him, standing up. “Had a good nap, then?” she asked in a dignified voice, now shoving her textbook in as far as it would go. The seams of the poor bag threatened to tear at any second with an ear-splitting rip. “Class is over,” she added when she noticed the puzzled look on his face.

He began to pack his bag and said, “When did I fall asleep?”

“Just before Ron.” Hermione pointed to the seat in front of Harry where a small puddle of drool gathered onto Ron’s sleeve.

Harry chuckled at the sight. He grabbed his textbook from his desk and got up to stand over Ron. He held his book in the air, aimed, then dropped it onto the desk next to Ron’s head with a thunderous bang, causing him to launch up straight like a firework. “Wuh-huh?” he yelped, swinging his head around to Harry, who didn’t worry about restraining his laugh.

“Had a good nap, then?” Harry asked with delight.

Harry and Hermione ate lunch quickly and told Ron that they’d see him in Transfiguration, then made their way to the Library for the rest of the break to search for anything on lifting powerful enchantments. The mirror had been a lot stronger than they had initially expected. No matter how many bricks they threw at the glass or how many curses they cast against it, it remained unharmed, so they decided that they’d just research how to disenchant it. The two collected a pile of books from the shelves and sat next to each other at a table by a courtyard window to read as many as they could before they had to go to class.

“Harry!” Hermione hissed at Harry when his head bobbed. He was trying his hardest to stay awake but having to read so many boring books was proving to be quite the task. “You’ve already slept plenty. I thought you wanted to—”

“I do, I do,” he said, forcing himself to sit up straight. “It’s just warm in here.”

“Hmm. Try to focus, Harry. If what we need to know is in this library, it’s going to be in one of these books.”

Harry sat on the very edge of his seat for the next few minutes reading and re-reading the same few pages until Hermione closed her book with a loud snap. “What am I thinking?” said Hermione. “I have to write you a plan of what you’ll need to teach tonight.” She reached into her bag and pulled a piece of parchment and a quill and began to write furiously fast.

“Does that mean I can put my head down again?” asked Harry as he watched her hand speed across the parchment.

“What? Oh, yes, go to sleep Harry. We’ll have to research tomorrow instead.”

Harry closed the book and used it as a pillow, unable to cease the ear-to-ear grin from creeping around his face at the thought of peaceful, non-stressed, perfectly-allowed sleep... for about two minutes.

“Harry?”

“Yes?” he groaned.

“I need to ask you something.”

Harry looked back to Hermione’s parchment to see it already filled with group exercises and spells in organized tables. “About what?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“I was just wondering... Why don’t you want us to tell Ron about this, again?”

“Oh, well, it’s just... I don’t think Ron would get it. I don’t think he’d understand why it’s so dangerous.”

Hermione gave him a knowing look and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Harry... We both know he’d understand just fine.” Harry pulled away and looked out the window, watching a pair of third-years walking by. “Oh...” she said, coming to some kind of conclusion. “You don’t want to tell him about... Harry...” She took hold of Harry’s hand, and he met her eyes again for a long moment before she softly whispered, “Cedric wasn’t your fault, Harry. There was nothing you could do.”

But Hermione wasn’t there. She didn’t know how long they had bickered about who should take the cup. She didn’t know that it was Harry who suggested they both grab it. If Harry wasn’t there...

“I know,” Harry lied. “That’s why we need to destroy this thing—or disenchant it... Either way, it needs to go. Just imagine how many times this has happened before. Unrequited love—someone spends the rest of their life caring for a reflection. Killed parents—dead friend—the same thing happens.” Harry rubbed his thumb anxiously over Hermione’s hand. “I don’t want that to happen to me.”

Hermione gave his hand a tight squeeze. “That’s why it won’t, Harry.”

#

“So today, we’ll be working more on Expelliarmus,” Harry said to the D.A. in the Room of Requirement after classes ended. He felt quite refreshed after the nap he took before they started. “But—er—also refining your skills with Stupefy.” Harry could see Neville nodding to himself. “Let’s get started.”

Harry partnered up with Neville, but after he could tell Neville had started to really master Expelliarmus, he sent him over to practice with Luna to help her like she said she needed. Harry noticed that Hermione and Ron—who had been practicing together—were about to switch partners as well. He began to make his way over to practice with Ron when someone behind him called his name.

“Oh, hey Cho,” said Harry.

“I noticed you were about to switch. Do you mind helping me?” she said, tugging at her own sleeves.

Harry looked to where Ron was and saw that he had just joined up with Seamus Finnigan. “Er—sure.”

Cho managed to hit the bookcase behind him the first time she cast Expelliarmus. The second time, the spell whizzed past his head. _Getting better_ , he thought. But by the fifth time, he thought she had to be faking it. Her face grew red and after every miss, she giggled anxiously at Harry. He had never seen her in such a nervous state before. _So, this is what Hermione meant..._

She had managed to miss him ten times in a row before Hermione appeared and tapped her on the shoulder from behind. “Cho, Marietta was wondering if you could help her out,” Hermione pointed to a cushion by the door where a disheveled Marietta Edgecombe was sitting, “she can’t seem to get a handle on Stupefy.”

Cho shot harry a guilty look as she inched away.

“It’s okay, Cho,” said Harry. “Go. I’ll see you later.”

“Er—okay,” she said. “See you, Harry. Hermione...”

Hermione said nothing.

When Cho left, Hermione moved closer to Harry. “Do you see what I mean?” said Hermione.

“I think I do, yeah.”

“You like her back, don’t you?”

“I... I’m not sure I would say that, Hermione. I mean, have you seen the poor girl’s aim? She’s helpless.”

Hermione giggled and swatted him on the arm. They spent the rest of the class sparring until they had both spells down. It took longer for Hermione to get Stupefy down, but once she did, she was even better than Harry at it. Once they both got to the point where neither of them could speak the incantations without taking deep breaths between the syllables, Harry insisted they take a breather, and they sat down on a large cushion together. He caught himself thinking about the mirror again. As he mulled over the last few nights, one specific memory took the forefront of his mind: Hermione looked into the mirror...

“Hermione,” said Harry, watching Luna blast Neville square in the chest. He flew backward a few feet and landed on his back.

“Yes?”

“You looked into the mirror.”

“Is that a question?” Hermione snorted.

“Well, what did you _see_?”

Hermione’s cheeks grew slightly pink and her gaze traveled to the floor, where she played with a spot on the ground with her shoe. “Er—it’s a bit private, isn’t it?”

“So, it isn’t boring, then?”

“What?”

Harry grinned. “If it were something boring, you’d have told me. You _love_ boring stuff.” Hermione looked like she was really struggling not to roll her eyes at him, but eventually, when she realized he wasn’t going to pry, she grew a rather large smile. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Hermione. I just hope you see something nice, is all.”

Harry looked down at her and saw her staring back up at him with someone else’s eyes. The pretty brown irises had dilated into tiny slivers resting on the outskirts of two large forever-black centers. They shared a chuckle together, and Hermione rested her head on his shoulder snugly.

He looked back around the room. After a moment of watching spells dance and students fly, Harry noticed Marietta storm out of the room, leaving an uncertain Cho alone where they had once just argued. It reminded him of something similar he witnessed a while back. The words that bounced around his head for the last year: “ _Next time there's a ball pluck up the courage to ask me before someone else does! And not as a last resort!_ ” After Hermione shouted that after the Yule Ball, she stormed up the stairs and left him and Ron in a very awkward silence.

“Are you sure you don’t like Cho, Harry?” said Hermione.

“I... I’m sure,” Harry relented.

Harry had been wondering who he’d take with him to the Halloween dance for the last two weeks but had pretty much settled on just going alone and chatting with Ron and the other Gryffindors. If he wasn’t going to take Cho, did he even have any other options?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad to see the response to the last one! This one was a bit different, as I'm trying to flesh out the side characters and not focus only on the mirror. Thanks for reading everyone--tell me what you guys thought about it in the comments!


	3. The Prince's Visit

There was still some uncertainty circulating around the castle about whether the Halloween dance would pass this year unscathed by Umbridge’s decrees, or if she were even going to let it be held at all. However, even with this uncertainty, the atmosphere in the Gryffindor common room hadn’t been this positive for the entire year. Everyone fifth-year and above were chatting in groups about what to expect, who they were taking, and if it was worth it to buy something nice to wear at all (though, an argument could be made that it was just Harry and Ron debating that last fact). By midnight, the common room was packed to the brim with chatting students.

“Can you—just—I—explain it to me _one_ more time?” Ron asked Harry. The two of them sat across from each other at the table by the window and Hermione sat a few feet away on the couch reading a dusty old tome.

“Please don’t, Harry,” Hermione said, looking up from her book for the first time. “Ron, he’s told you four times—if I have to hear it again, I’ll curse you both!”

“ _He_ asked _me_!” said Harry.

“So? Don’t respond!”

“But he’s stupid, Hermione!” said Ron.

“Hey!” said Harry.

Hermione huffed and returned to her book with her lips pursed.

“Harry,” whispered Ron after a moment of silence. Harry was sure he saw Hermione roll her eyes. “Run it by me one more time.”

“Okay—for the final time—I was on my way to Potions,” started Harry for the fifth time. “Cho stopped me—”

“ _Cornered_ you, more like,” Hermione muttered without looking up.

“Sure. And she asked me If I had a date to the dance. I said ‘no.’ She asked if I planned on taking anyone yet and I said ‘no.’ Then she asked me if I wanted to go with her—”

“And you said . . .” Ron questioned.

“I said ‘no.’”

Ron stared at Harry for a long time, scrutinizing him with furrowed brows.

“So, you’ve asked someone then?” Harry asked defensively, crossing his arms. Hermione looked up again, this time with a small smirk.

Ron went pink in the ears. “I—not exactly,” he gave Hermione a quick glance, “not yet at least.” She and Harry continued to look at him in silence. Ron was as red as a beat when he finally said, “Stop it!”

They kept staring.

“It’s hard!”

“If it’s so hard,” said Harry, finally unlocking his arms. “Why are we so worried about it? We can just hang out the whole time. We don’t _need_ dates, do we?”

“Right!”

Hermione snorted in her chair.

“Watch her pull what she pulled last year,” said Ron, tossing a quill at Hermione, who just swatted it away and kept reading with a grin.

“No Krum this year,” said Harry. “She’ll be just as alone as us.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, placing a bookmark into the spine of the tome and standing up. “I won’t be going alone.” Hermione giggled at Harry and Ron’s faces, which must have looked rather goofy since both of their jaws were hanging wide open. Before either of them could close their gaping mouths again to question her, she turned around and made her way up the staircase to the dormitories, clutching the tome in her arm tightly. She came to a stop when she reached the top landing and looked down at the two from the balcony.

Harry licked the dry roof of his mouth to speak when he heard a voice behind him say the exact words he was going to say. “Already?” Ron asked; Harry couldn’t help but notice a tinge of hurt in his voice. Or maybe he was irked? Either way, Ron was definitely surprised— _that_ Harry was sure of. “Who’s asked you? It’s so far away!”

Hermione rolled her eyes so hard that Harry thought he might have to cover his head for falling projectiles. “It’s next Saturday, Ronald—it is _not_ far away. And no! No one’s asked me yet”—she tucked a loose curl behind her hear—“but I . . . I’m pretty certain that someone will.”

“Who?” shouted Ron.

“A good friend!” Hermione slammed the door behind her, sending a temporary wave of silence across the common room before it returned back to its normal buzzing.

 _She already has a date . . ._ thought Harry. For the last several days, Harry had been working up to asking Hermione to the dance. He liked the idea of hanging out with Ron the whole time, but ever since the last D.A. meeting, he hadn’t been able to stop daydreaming about dancing with her in the great hall on Halloween, which was weird because he hated dancing. Something was changing in his brain. He never acted on his feeling toward Hermione, but that struggle was becoming harder and harder as they spent so much time together alone recently. It was like his feelings for her were beginning to amplify.

His thoughts of Cedric were less frequent, Umbridge’s reign of terror became an afterthought, and articles where the ministry dragged his name through the mud were almost funny to him now. But that didn’t matter anymore. She wanted someone else to take her. She had someone else in mind. _That’s fair. I hope they have a good time—a great time . . . I’ll have Ron._

Harry turned back to Ron with the most normal face he could muster, only to see his red-haired friend fuming in his chair.

#

In the morning, Harry woke up before anyone else in his room. On any usual occasion, he would see the dark blue sky and roll back over, but he knew Hermione wouldn’t. She would more than likely be reading by the common room fireplace. Seeing as he had time before breakfast, Harry slid on a long-sleeve shirt on top of his pajama pants and made his way down the stairs.

As expected, Hermione sat on the floor with her back against the couch reading the same old book she had begun reading the night before. She didn’t notice Harry come down the steps so, walking quietly, he reached the backside of the couch and looked down at her. She had put day clothes on already, but her robe sat on the empty seat of the couch beside her, folded nicely. Harry thought that he could watch this for hours. Her hair was still frizzy from hours of rest, her left hand placed against her chin with her fingers fidgeting with her bottom lip mindlessly, and her head slowly bobbing from one side to the other as her eyes sped along the lines.

“Ahem,” coughed Harry.

Hermione gasped and her head spun around to him. “Oh,” she said breathlessly. “Merlin, you scared me, Harry!”

He chuckled. “Sorry, sorry. It’s too hard to resist.”

“Well, I hope it was humorous for you.” Hermione got up to her feet and dropped the book onto her robe. “I’m actually glad you’re awake, I’ve got good news.”

Hermione took a seat on the edge of the coffee table, and Harry moved around the couch to sit in front of her. He expected her to speak when he sat but she said nothing for a long moment. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, she smiled and grabbed hold of his hands, then took a deep breath.

“I think I know how to disenchant the mirror,” said Hermione.

“What?” said Harry. He couldn’t believe it; they had only been trying to find out _how_ for a little over a week. “How?”

“That book. It’s all about ancient charms and enchantments.” Harry looked back at the book. The cover was stripped on the edges and dust seemed to be permanently anchored to the front. It had to be at least a century old. “I’m borrowing it from Professor Flitwick.”

“Professor Flitwick?”

“Yes! We never thought about the teacher’s rooms but, the other day, I noticed a small bookshelf behind his desk and asked him if I could look through it.”

“So . . . I . . . how do we do it?”

“We need to check the mirror for a rune—one that looks like a forked tree. If it has one underneath the glass, a fourth-year spell during a full moon is all it’ll take!”

“Gone forever?”

Hermione grinned and bit her lip in a rather cute way. “Gone.”

Harry snorted. He opened and closed his mouth a few times trying to find the right thing to say. Finally, without warning, he pulled her to him by her shoulders and kissed her forehead, then wrapped her in a hug. “Thank you,” he said.

“Of course, Harry,” said Hermione, hugging him back even tighter.

It felt right to be so close to her. His head found the crook of her neck and he rested it there, and he felt Hermione do the same to his shoulder. They sat like that for a while. Ten seconds turned to thirty, and thirty turned into a minute. Finally, Harry checked his watch.

“We should get ready for breakfast,” he said. “Everyone’ll be coming down soon.”

The two of them split up at the top of the stairs. Harry made his way back up the stairs to his room where Seamus and Dean were chatting while getting dressed. They left for the Great Hall as Harry was buttoning his shirt. A moment later, he laughed as Ron and Neville’s head popped up at the same time, joining him in conscious thought.

“Wuh’time’sit?” groaned Ron, ripping his covers off.

“Time for breakfast, Ron,” said Harry happily. Only then did he realize that he was still smiling.

The three of them made their way down the spiral staircase to the common room steps.

“What are we waiting for?” Neville asked when Harry didn’t follow them down the top landing.

“We should wait for Hermione, she’ll want—” Before Harry could finish his sentence, Ron wheeled around and continued walking.

“Meet you there, mate,” said Ron.

Neville and Harry watched as Ron walked to the portrait hole, straightening his prefect badge, and closed it behind him. “What just happened?” asked Neville.

Harry said nothing, but to him it was obvious. Ron had liked Hermione ever since the Yule Ball last year. She went with Krum, and Ron flipped out on her because of it. Harry hoped that Ron wouldn’t make the dance a living hell for her again this year. She had worked so hard recently, all just to help Harry; she deserved to have a fun night with whoever she wanted to take. Even if it wasn’t him.

Ron wasn’t in the Great Hall when Harry, Neville, and Hermione made it to the Gryffindor table. Harry and Hermione gave each other knowing looks as they ate their breakfast together. Ron never was great at subtlety, though Harry doubted that was the point.

“You think he’ll start the shouting right after classes or save them for tonight?” sighed Hermione.

“Maybe we’re just misreading it?” said Harry. “Maybe he’s not avoiding you—he could be busy . . .”

They had Transfiguration second period. Harry sat with Ron in the back of the class as usual while Hermione liked to sit a few seats up for a better view of the chalkboard. After a few minutes of awkward silence (besides the scratching their quills against the paper to seem like they were taking notes), Harry nudged Ron.

“Ron,” said Harry, being careful with his words. “You know you can’t punish her every time she gets a date to something.”

Ron chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“I—er—I know you like her,” Harry continued. “At least I think you do. That makes sense—she’s great—but . . . but you’re still her friend. You can’t do this to her again.”

Ron frowned at Harry. “I don’t have to _like_ it, Harry. Like you said, we’re her friends. We deserve to know who she plans on taking, don’t we? Has she told you?”

“No, why would she tell me?”

“Because—maybe it’s you,” Ron’s whispered voice was coming out as more of a hiss now. “You two have been spending an awful lot of time together recently. Anything I should know about, _mate_?”

“What? We’ve just been dealing with some D.A. things.”

“Funny, Hermione told me she was helping you with Potions. . . .”

“It isn’t me Ron,” Harry looked back to his notes. “Trust me.”

Ron’s words stuck with Harry throughout the lecture, replaying over and over in his head as he struggled to pay attention to the lesson. Who _was_ she expecting to ask her to the dance if it wasn’t either of them?

Not before long, the bell rang in its tower and the halls filled again. Ron seemed testy as he, Harry, and Hermione made their way to the Great Hall for lunch. He didn’t say a word but _did_ shoot the two of them nasty glances when they smiled or joked with each other. Hermione made a show of glaring back even worse at him each time he did. They continued like this for some time until they sat down at the Gryffindor table. Harry felt like laughing at the sight of them; The moment they took their seats, they began eating as quietly as if neither had ever had qualms with the other. Just the way Harry liked it. Friends eating quietly . . .

Harry stretched out his arm to grab one of the sandwiches that appeared in front of him when a thin hand from beside him seized the entire platter instead.

“Let’s just take it with us, shall we?” said Hermione, shooting Ron a stony look. “We’ll be eating in the library until Ron sorts himself out.”

Ron scoffed and tightened his lips.

“We are?” asked Harry. He didn’t want to pick a side.

“Yes!” said Hermione. The bushy-haired girl spun around and walked towards the door.

“Er—see you later, I guess, Ron,” said Harry, getting up and chasing after her. He found her waiting by the doors for him in the Entrance Hall frowning down at the platter she held with both hands. What had once held a pile of turkey sandwiches was now barren and sparkling clean. A group of seventh years passing by shot the pair curious looks.

“I forgot they disappear when you take them out of the hall . . .” muttered Hermione.

“Er—it’s . . . okay . . . what . . . what just happened?” stuttered Harry.

Hermione huffed and set the platter down on a bench by the doors. Harry walked with her as she wheeled around and headed for the stairs.

“Well, I’ve had enough of being scowled at for one day, I think,” said Hermione rather coolly as they ascended the stairs. “I love Ron, but if he wants to tell me something, he should use his words.”

“I think he’s just curious, Hermione,” said Harry.

“He’s not. And if he is, he shouldn’t be. It’s none of his business who I take with me if it isn’t him. Let him scowl all he wants.”

“Hermione,” called Harry. She had reached the landing but kept climbing the stairs. “I thought we were going to the library.”

“Oh, no, I just said that to avoid suspicion. We’re going to the Room of Requirement. I figured we could go ahead and look for the rune while we have nothing better to do.”

“Why not after classes?”

“I have something to do after classes,” she said with a smirk.

Harry nodded and soon enough, he found himself on the seventh floor looking over his shoulder for teachers or students. At any second, anyone could come around the corner and see them enter the Room of Requirement. The crackling stone outline snaked its way around the dark oak again and Hermione waved Harry inside once he was satisfied that no one could see them.

“Where was it again?” said Hermione.

Harry chuckled. “This way.”

Once they reached the busted piano and bullfrog sculpture, Harry sat on a nearby table while Hermione inspected the surface of the mirror intently. The table threatened to buckle under his weight; two of the legs were missing notches like a game of Jenga and the surface was scratched and missing chunks of wood and paint.

Hermione ran her finger slowly down the right edge of the mirror, looking intently. Harry noticed her eyes breaking away from just above her finger to gaze upon the reflection in the mirror. He smiled to himself for a moment as he watched her, wondering what she saw. By the look on her face, he could tell it wasn’t boring. Her smile grew wide and she shot a nervous look to Harry before bringing her gaze back to the edge in search of the rune. Harry cleared his throat.

“You really pushing my curiosity to its limits, Hermione,” said Harry. He watched her suppress a grin. Suddenly her eyes went wide, and her mouth gaped open. “What is it?” he asked, standing up.

“It’s here!” said Hermione. “The rune, Harry, it’s here!”

“Really, where?”

Hermione tugged on Harry’s sleeve and showed him a tiny translucent-purple rune on the very edge of the mirror. It looked just like a forked tree (like Hermione said it would). Harry wrapped Hermione in the second hug that day and she returned the pressure. Harry laughed to himself as she let him go. He tried to thank her again but was cut off by her hand covering his mouth.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered, releasing her hand from him and listening closely.

“No,” Harry whispered. “Hear what?”

And then Harry heard it too: footsteps. Someone somewhere in the cathedral-sized room was shuffling along, and it became more and more obvious as they listened that the footsteps were heading their way. Harry grabbed hold of Hermione’s hand and rushed over to the table that he sat on before.

Hermione understood instantly as Harry knocked it over on its side as quietly as he could. She joined him in pushing it against the hill of luggage and soot-covered trunks. As they struggled with the heavy table, the steps grew even louder; faster. Whoever was coming this way wasn’t just passing by. They pressed it as far as it could go into the hill, and Harry jumped over. He helped Hermione over the tabletop and both of them got as low as they could to the ground, shoulders pressed tightly against each other’s. Harry wasn’t certain they were safe from view but as long as they were quiet it might work.

A shadow formed on the floor across from them next to the busted piano followed by long dark robes and greasy black hair. Professor Snape stopped in his tracks at the sight of the mirror. His brow furrowed momentarily until his gaze drifted upwards into the heart of the glass.

Harry stretched his neck to peek out from the side of the table and felt Hermione beside him doing the same thing. The two of them watched as Snape kneeled down in front of the mirror and rested his palm against the cool glass. He looked up slowly as if making eye contact with someone they couldn’t see.

“We shouldn’t be seeing this . . .” said Hermione in a barely audible voice. Harry agreed but couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. Together, they watched as Snape began to mutter to the reflection under his breath. Finally, Hermione pinched Harry on the arm. “Let’s go.”

With some effort, Harry detached his eyes from the scene. He grabbed Hermione’s hand as she led him through a small gap between the table and the luggage. The two of them crawled noiselessly across the aisle and only stopped once they were safe behind the cover of the next hill.

Harry peeked around the corner to peer at Snape again. He hadn’t noticed a thing. If Harry was curious at what _Hermione_ saw, he didn’t know what to call this new emotion, but it was familiar. . . . Hermione took hold of his arm and pulled him away again. They watched their steps as they silently rushed to the door of the cavernous room, careful that their feet didn’t land on anything that snapped, cracked, squeaked, or squealed.

When they found themselves in the corridor again—what seemed like miles and miles away from the mirror _or_ Snape—Hermione gently pulled the door of the Room of Requirement to a close with a satisfying click. Harry leaned his back against the wall with his hands on his knees. Beside him, Hermione let out a long sigh of relief with her ear to the crack of the door, then looked to him with a wild expression on her face.

“So . . .” said Harry, feeling the same way she looked. “Still wanna’ go to the library?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is . . . the longest chapter so far. I hope you all liked that bit at the end with Snape. That guy's weird. Please leave a comment telling me what you thought about this chapter or the story as a whole. The next one should be out either next weekend or the one after that so keep an eye out for it ;)


	4. A Good Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! 
> 
> I'm writing this little update on 2/6/2021. It's been a good few months since I've added to this story, and I'm sorry to say but it doesn't seem like I'll be finishing it anytime soon. I apologize for stopping so close to the end, but I have quite a bit going on in my life right now. This includes school, my future, and family stuff. Thankfully most of the really bad stuff is over with now, but I've come to a point in my life where what I really need to be dedicating my time to is my actual writing. I do hope to one day finish the final chapter, though, so come back every once in a while to check if it's up! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who liked this story and commented,  
> -David

After Transfiguration, Harry walked with Ron and Hermione to Potions. It seemed to Harry that a bit of time to cool down by himself during lunch was all Ron needed to reach his new headspace, which happened to be ignoring Hermione altogether. Though, Harry would much rather have them not speak at all than scowling and scoffing at each other all day.

As they descended the stairs to the dungeons, Harry felt a small creature play the drums inside him. Glancing over, Harry saw Hermione’s contorted face and knew the same question made its way into her brain. “What if Snape had seen us?” They had taken a big risk by sneaking out of the Room of Requirement instead of waiting for him to leave, but Harry knew it was the right thing to do—something about Snape’s face when he gazed into the mirror told him so. If he _had_ seen them, his hatred would never dwindle again. It would be a fair assumption that they would find out the second their feet crossed the threshold of the door in a few minutes. Harry just wished they had documented the scene in the Room of Requirement somehow; It may have been the first emotion the greasy-haired professor had ever felt . . . besides anger.

Ron cleared his throat at the two, who were staring at each other in the corridor. They shook their heads free and continued to the class. Harry wasn’t sure why, but he felt guilty. The anger that drove Ron throughout the morning had drained and what remained was a bit dismal, to say the least. Ron watched his shoes and took slow strides alongside them when he thought Harry wasn’t looking.

The Gryffindors and Slytherins waited on either side of the Professor’s door, waiting for them to be let in. They listened to the pitter-patter of step grow more and more distant as the stragglers from the last class vacated the dungeons. Soon, the door swung open and Snape was standing in the doorway. He stood to the side and let the classes fill in, and, as Harry moved to enter, an arm swung out in front of him.

“Not so fast,” Snape said to him and the other students still in the corridor: Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Dean Thomas. “Hand over your essays.” Harry heard Ron gulp.

“Sir?” Dean asked, stepping into view. “I don’t understand. Aren’t we to turn them in at the end of—”

“You won’t be attending Potions today Mr. Thomas.” Snape’s gaze fell on Harry again, leering as he said, “You five are to meet Professor Sprout at the pumpkin patch. She needs able students to help her remove this year’s . . . decor.”

No one said a word, but Harry felt relief spread throughout his body. It was confirmed, he thought. There was no way Snape would let them leave if he had seen them in the Room of Requirement—he’d have cursed them right then and there.

“Now,” hissed Snape.

One by one, the Gryffindors begrudgingly retrieved their essays from their respective bags and stacked them in Snape’s hand. The second that Ron unlatched himself from his near barren parchment, Snape wheeled around and waved his wand behind him. The sound of the door slamming echoed down the corridor.

“At least he won’t be able to make fun of us in front of the whole class,” Neville offered as the five of them made their way back up the stairs.

“Right,” agreed Ron. “The joke’s on him anyways.”

“What do you mean?”

Ron laughed for the first time since yesterday. “That was the worst essay I’ve ever written—he could have ripped me to shreds!”

“Me too,” Dean admitted with a grin.

“Maybe we should walk _faster_ ,” suggested Harry.

Eventually, they made it past the greenhouses and found themselves on the edge of the pumpkin patch, watching as a dozen other students in small groups made their way through the field, filling carts with giant pumpkins. Professor Sprout turned away from Hagrid and waved the new Gryffindor recruits over to where they stood next to a massive pile of orange.

“Hi, Hagrid,” said Hermione as they wove over and in between knee-high pumpkins.

“‘Ello you three!” he said.

Before anyone else could speak, Professor Sprout pointed to the last two carts a few feet away. “Right,” she said cheerily. “Split into two groups and fill the carts with the best pumpkins you can find. Once you’ve done that, drop them off here and do it again until the only ones left are either rotten or too tiny to be Hogwarts-worthy jack o’ lanterns. Oh, and make sure to lift them the muggle way, won’t you? They are terribly hard to enchant once you’ve dropped them from midair. Got it?”

“Yes, Professor!” said Hermione and Neville.

Harry and Ron shared a look of amusement.

#

“Got it?” grunted Hermione as she and Harry struggled to lift the last “Hogwarts-worthy” pumpkin on the field. It also happened to be the biggest.

“Of course, I have it!” said Harry.

“Then help me lift it, will you?”

“I am!”

With some effort, they finally managed to get the heavy thing up to the edge of the cart and let it roll itself onto the pile, launching dust and pollen every which way. Harry leaned on the side of the cart as the pair caught their breath.

“This was quite fun,” said Hermione, ridding her hands of dirt. Her bushy hair was matted to her forehead and neck, and Harry felt like he was dying; sweat rolled down his back like he’d just come out of a shower.

It was an hour after classes ended, but they were finally done. The only other people were a group of Hufflepuffs on the other side of the patch, who were already making their way over to the pumpkin pile. The pile was so absolutely massive that it came up to Hagrid’s shoulder before he left. Ron, who was helping Professor Sprout stack the carts, made his way over to the Hufflepuffs as they arrived to help them add their load of new pumpkins onto the pile. As they stacked their cart and left the field, Harry and Hermione drove their full one up to Ron.

“Little help?” said Harry.

Ron sighed at the sight of their full cart but still helped them unload (taking the time beforehand to stretch his legs and arms). Minutes passed as the three of them stacked giant pumpkins on top of each other in silence. During lunch, after hearing Hermione and Ron scoff at each other the whole time, Harry felt comfortable with the silence; he could pretend that nothing was wrong. But now, the silence was getting to him. And even though Hermione’s mood had been unusually cheery as they searched the field, he could see it getting to her as well. Harry watched as she tried to shoot Ron glances to spark a conversation, but he just continued stacking.

“I’ll take it, dears,” Professor Sprout said as she took their now empty cart. “Thank you for all your help, you’re free to go.” She packed the last cart on top and charmed the stack to follow her a few feet off the ground as she left for the greenhouses.

“Finally,” said Harry, wiping sweat from his brow. “I thought we’d be here until dinner. Let’s go find Seamus and ask for his Potions notes, shall we?”

“Actually,” said Ron, wringing his hands nervously. “I’ll see you two later.”

“What, why?”

“I—er—promised Neville I’d help him find a nice shirt . . . for the dance, y’know?”

“Oh, well . . . see you later, I suppose.”

“See you later, mate,” said Ron, giving them both a half-hearted wave goodbye before turning around and trekking up the hill towards the castle.

“Bye, Ron,” said Hermione quietly, but his back was already facing her.

“So . . .” said Harry when Ron finally disappeared over the hill. “What have you been so cheery about?”

Despite how she may have felt after seeing Ron’s depressive state, Hermione smirked.

“Have I been?” asked Hermione. She adjusted her bag and started towards the Training Grounds; Harry walked with her, utterly bemused.

“Well, yeah,” said Harry. “You haven’t stopped smiling since the last bell rang.”

“Hmm. If you say so.”

Harry frowned at her but said nothing. Once the two of them made it past the walls to the Training Grounds, they headed up the path for the Owlery, all the while chatting about the day’s classes, though most of Harry’s thoughts strayed with what was going on with Ron. He hoped that his friend would snap out of it soon . . .

After a short walk up the inclined path, Harry and Hermione arrived below the solitary tower. Harry was still sweating a bit from the hours on the field, and the sight of the hundred or so steps to the Owlery made him groan.

“Don’t be baby,” giggled Hermione, ascending the steps. “C’mon.”

“Who are we writing—can’t it wait ‘till later?”

Hermione stopped and turned around to face Harry, who was gaping at her from the bottom top of the steps. “I told you I had something to do after classes, didn’t I?” she asked. “This is it.”

“It really can’t wait?” he asked.

“No,” Hermione said simply. “It can’t.”

So, against his better judgment, he followed her up the steps, and the sound of hundreds of owls hooting softly grew louder. They reached the doors and Harry sighed in relief at the sight of a few school owls sleeping on their stoops on the first floor; they wouldn’t have to make the climb to the top of the tower itself.

“I’ll wait outside, shall I?” asked Harry as Hermione began composing her letter. Still grinning, she nodded.

Harry pulled himself onto the stomach-high wall of the steps and dangled his legs over the side, gazing out at the afternoon sun. It hovered closely over the tallest hill and emitted an unwavering blanket of orange October light across the grounds. Far below him, two birds used their wings to trick worms out of hiding and the sight of it oddly made his stomach growl.

“Hermione?” he called into the Owlery after a while. “Dinner’s starting soon, are you done yet?”

“Almost,” she called back. “I’m having trouble deciding.”

Harry turned around and swung his legs over the other side of the wall. “Deciding what?” he asked. Hermione emerged from the Owlery, scrutinizing her letter with a twisted face.

“For the dance . . . to wear . . .” she said distractedly.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh—er—I can’t decide which dress to ask my parents to send me. Which do you think, blue or orange?” Across from him, Hermione leaned against the wall next to the door and awaited his answer.

Harry snorted. “You’re going to let _me_ pick?”

“Well, yes. Why not? Which do you think would look better?”

Harry put his hand to his chin and thought about it for a moment, trying not to blush. It was awkward having to think about something like that right in front of her. Soon, his thoughts became a bit more manic as his mind strayed from “what color would look best” to “how would it look on her.”

“Orange,” he blurted out stupidly once he realized he’d been thinking for far too long.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Why orange?”

“It’s more . . . Halloween-ey,” he said with a laugh.

She giggled and jotted it down. On top of the wall, Harry watched her write in silence and fidgeted in his spot a bit, thinking more about the dance. He hoped that Ron would be in a better mood by then so that they’d be able to at least have a conversation or two and the night wouldn’t be a complete waste. Whoever she _was_ planning on taking was lucky; Harry bet that Hermione would look just as nice in either dress.

Soon, he found himself thinking about the night before again.

 _“No one’s asked me yet,_ ” Hermione had said to Ron, _“but I . . . I’m pretty certain that someone will.”_

_“Who?”_

_“A good friend!”_

Hermione finished the letter and folded it, then looked back up to Harry for a moment. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and let her gaze slowly fall to her feet as she nudged a pebble across the ground. Was he supposed to say something?

_(“A good friend!”)_

Harry gasped at his sudden realization, startling Hermione. “Oh!” he shouted. “You meant me!”

Hermione burst out laughing harder than Harry had ever heard her laugh before. He was sure that everyone in the castle heard it too. She doubled over, gripping her stomach and dropped to the floor against the Owlery wall, and before he knew it, he was laughing too. How couldn’t he have seen it earlier? He had been so stupid! Eventually, their combined laughter died down, and they both looked up at each other again; his stomach fluttered when their eyes met.

“Yes, silly,” said Hermione, still giggling. “Who else?”

Harry smiled at her and chuckled. “I feel so stupid,” he said.

“Don’t feel too bad, I wasn’t going to let us leave until you figured it out.”

“What?”

“No, really! I’m actually impressed.” She held up the folded letter. “Getting your opinion on the dress was only phase one. I also planned a really drawn-out discussion about the dance where I’d sigh and mumble and . . . well . . . anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Dinner’s starting,” she said, getting up to her feet.

“You couldn’t have just asked me?” said Harry as the two of them entered the Owlery once more.

Hermione woke up a school owl and tied her letter to its leg. It chirped dutifully and flew off in the direction of Hogsmeade. “It’s traditional that the boy asks the girl, Harry,” said Hermione. “Speaking of which . . .” she said, stopping at the top of the Owlery steps as they began to descend them.

“Er—what?” said Harry. Hermione crossed her arms at his perplexed face.

“You still haven’t asked me.”

“Oh,” he said, suddenly very aware of how messy his hair was. “Right, well . . . Hermione . . . would you . . . do you want to . . . go with me? To the ball?”

Hermione smiled. “I should certainly think so.”

#

Harry half expected Ron to be missing from the Great Hall when he and Hermione arrived a few minutes after dinner started, but their red-headed friend was sitting alone where the three of them usually sat with his chin resting on his hands. Harry shared a look with Hermione before joining him in the empty seats across from him.

“Finally,” sighed Ron, and he joined them in stacking food onto his plate.

Ron seemed different throughout their meal, Harry thought. Like earlier, he wasn’t very talkative, but he didn’t seem as sad or solemn. Nor did he seem angry. He even spoke to Hermione directly a few times, making eye contact and everything. Harry wasn’t sure what to make of it besides that he must be feeling more like himself, and it didn’t help that every time he tried to figure out Ron’s headspace, his brain betrayed him, displaying images of the upcoming dance instead. He was going with Hermione. . . . She _wanted_ him to ask her—he did—and now they were going together. The thought of it all made him care very little about concealing the grin on his face, and he was pleasantly surprised to see one just like it on Hermione’s too.

Harry thought about it all for a moment. Why did she want him to ask her—why did she want to go with him at all? Did she like him too? _No,_ Harry told himself. _You’re just friends. Friends going to a dance together—it happens all the time._ His smile was beginning to fade when another voice spoke from deeper within him. “ _Why didn’t she ask Ron, then?_ ”

By the time that the three of them made it to the common room for the night, Harry had barely done any thinking about Ron. Hermione sat on the rug in front of the fire reading a thick book while he and Ron sat on the couch, doing their schoolwork. For an hour, the only sound emanating from the three of them was the scratching of quills and the turning of papers.

“She said, ‘yes’!” shouted Neville, appearing next to them. Ron beamed at him, and Hermione’s head popped up from behind the coffee table.

“Way to go!” said Ron.

“Who?” Hermione asked as Neville collapsed onto the couch beside Harry.

“Luna . . .” said Neville, closing his eyes in bliss.

“Luna _Lovegood_? You’re going with Luna?” Her head shot over to Ron. “Did you know?”

Ron smiled proudly.

“You’re not mad that she bruised you?” said Harry. Neville shook his head at him. “Or flung you against the castle wall?” He shook his head again.

“Or that she believes in—oh, what were they . . . nargles?” said Hermione.

“You guys don’t like her?” asked Neville.

“It’s not _that_ ,” said Harry. “She’s just a bit odd, is all.”

“Do _you_ like her?” asked Hermione.

Neville blushed a deep red. “Yeah, I think so. She’s great, isn’t she?” Hermione said nothing. “Ron?”

“Yeah,” said Ron, “she’s great.” Harry watched as Ron gave Hermione a long look out of the corner of his eye . . .

It wasn’t long after Neville had left when Hermione snapped her book closed and stood up. “I’ll see you two in the morning,” she said and headed for the dormitory stairs.

Harry worried for a second whether she’d leave without speaking to him, and he was relieved when she stopped next to him. Smiling, she shared a look with him for a moment before wrapping him in a tight hug, which he returned gratefully, wondering if they would become more frequent now. “You should probably tell Ron we’re going together,” Hermione whispered, tickling his ear with her breath.

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly, letting go. “I should . . .”

Hermione chewed on her lip for a moment, and the two of them stared at each other for what felt like the hundredth time since the Owlery. Harry could feel the grin working itself back onto his face but, again, he didn’t stop it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Hermione, smiling wide. Harry watched her go as she turned for the steps, climbed them, and closed the girl’s dormitory door behind her. It dawned on Harry then that Ron, only sitting a few feet away, had probably just seen his and Hermione’s interaction. For a moment, Harry considered not saying anything and going to bed—he felt that if Ron got angry again after what he had to say it would be completely his fault, but, seeing as he’d just figure it out on his own if he said nothing, Harry cleared his throat, but didn’t get the chance to speak.

Ron looked up from his assignment with a tired face and said, “So . . . you _are_ going with her, aren’t you?”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes,” he said, “but I didn’t lie earlier. She didn’t ask me until after the pumpkin patch—well, technically _I_ asked _her_. She—er—wanted me to figure it out on my own.”

For a moment, Harry let silence fall between them again, but, eventually, it became unbearable. “I know you like her,” he said. “But I like her too . . . a lot.”

The look in Ron’s eyes made him feel terrible. “Since when?”

“Third year.”

Ron said nothing.

“I didn’t do it to hurt you,” said Harry. “It’s just . . . I don’t know. I usually leave it alone, y’know—I know you like her and all. But we’ve been spending so much time together recently and it’s been so hard not to say anything, so, when I realized it was _me_ she wanted to take, I—”

“I get it,” said Ron finally. “I had a feeling.”

Harry raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

“It’s just,” started Ron, “you guys keep leaving me to do . . . whatever it is you’ve been doing. I’ve seen the way you look at her sometimes. All that one-on-one time—it was inevitable you’d start dating. I should’ve guessed she meant you.”

“Dating. . . ?” asked Harry, feeling his face reddening.

“What I’m trying to say is: I’m not angry; not anymore. At least . . . well . . . at least you’re not Krum, I mean.”

“We’re not dating, Ron,” said Harry. He expected this to elate Ron—that he would jump out of his seat and sprint up the stairs to the girl’s dorm and pound on the door—but his friend’s face twisted into thorough confusion instead.

“What do you mean?” said Ron.

“We’re just going as friends.”

“But you like her.”

“Well, yeah.”

“And she likes you back.”

“I . . . I think so.”

“So . . .” said Ron. “Why would you be going as friends?”

Suddenly, Harry’s mouth was very dry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! 
> 
> I'm writing this little update on 2/6/2021. It's been a good few months since I've added to this story, and I'm sorry to say but it doesn't seem like I'll be finishing it anytime soon. I apologize for stopping so close to the end, but I have quite a bit going on in my life right now. This includes school, my future, and family stuff. Thankfully most of the really bad stuff is over with now, but I've come to a point in my life where what I really need to be dedicating my time to is my actual writing. I do hope to one day finish the final chapter, though, so come back every once in a while to check if it's up! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who liked this story and commented,  
> -David


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